


Further Than I Thought I Could

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Prompt Fills [8]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, whouffaldi, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8056939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: Clara had often wondered, in moments of idleness, what she would say to Bow-Tie if they crossed paths again. Purely out of boredom, of course, and purely in flights of fancy. She had never expected to step out of the TARDIS and bump into him as she hunted for her own Scottish Time Lord. And she certainly hadn't expected him to ask a very spoiler-laden question indeed...





	Further Than I Thought I Could

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extremely fluffy/angsty fic based on a concept that a friend and I came up with one night. 
> 
> Title is from "I Found" by Amber Run.

Clara sighed deeply as she navigated the corridors between her bedroom and the console room, cursing under her breath as she walked. “Doctor?” she called, sighing in irritation at the silence that followed, looking left and right down subsidiary passages as she stalked towards the heart of the TARDIS in the optimistic hope she might find the Doctor there. 

“Bloody Time Lords,” she muttered to herself bitterly. “Bloody idiots the lot of them… not like we were _in the middle of anything,_ ” she added, slightly more loudly, in the hope that the Time Lord was listening. “Oh no, it’s all ‘oh Clara, I’ve had a great idea that totally can’t wait’ and then the kind of vanishing act that would make Houdini jealous. _As per bloody usual._ ” 

She aimed a kick at a nearby piece of loose tubing and earned herself a chastising beep in response. 

“You can bloody well shut up and all,” she groused. “You could just show me where my boyfriend went, but clearly that would be much too easy for the almighty Type 40 TARDIS, so instead you’re just sending me round in circles… oh yeah, don’t think I haven’t noticed. I have.” She scowled blackly. “Look, I know you don’t like sharing him, but I thought we were pals. I’m just getting him comfortable with kissing. It was going well until now. Please, play nicely. Please?” 

There was a distinct lack of response from the time machine, and Clara’s mood soured further. 

“Fine,” Clara spat. “Fine, I guess I’ll just wander around these corridors until I’m old and decrepit and dead, we’ll see how much your thief likes you then. Oh yeah, that’d go down really well: ‘my time and space ship let my girlfriend _die._ ’ Can’t wait to see how he’d thank you for that. Maybe a nice trip to a scrapyard.” 

The TARDIS beeped at her in what she really hoped was a somewhat apologetic manner. Or maybe she was projecting. Whatever. She glared at a wall anyway. 

“That’s better. Look. Don’t get me wrong – we’ve got a cordial thing going on now. After that _lovely_ incident with my bedroom, back in the… well,” Clara smirked slightly, despite herself. “That one backfired on you, but the old man never needs to know that. I thought you liked me now. I like you, so _please_ , just _take me to my boyfriend._ ” 

The lights in the corridor went out abruptly, and Clara fell over another loose section of tubing, swearing almightily as she hit the floor. 

“Is it the lexis you’re having difficulty with?” she asked, gritting her teeth as she got back to her feet and dusted herself down. “What, does ‘boyfriend’ not sit well with your circuit board? How about ‘paramour’? ‘Lover’?” She sighed deeply, deciding to really push the boat out: “There’s no pleasing you, is there? Fine, how about _husband_?” 

There was a soft humming noise and the lights came back on, the console room brightly illuminated in front of her. 

“Wow, urm… OK. Note to self. Float that idea with him. I’m sure I could bring him round to my way of thinking – no, I did _not_ mean that in a sexy way, stop flashing your lights at me – and he’d just _love_ to get space married. Eventually. Once I’d made my point clear.” She held up one finger warningly, realising how truly mad she looked. “Yes that means nagging. Am I ashamed of this? No. No I am not.” 

Clara circled the console, running a fingertip over the cool metal and smiling as she did so, opting to try a slightly gentler tactic. “Please,” she implored softly, her temper dissipating as fast as it had flared up. “Please, just take me to him.” 

She closed her eyes then, praying, trying to concentrate on her gangly Scottish Time Lord in the hope that the TARDIS’s telepathic circuits might be attuned to her by now, praying that maybe some kind of miracle might occur and she’d find herself transported to wherever his workshop had secreted itself. Instead, she felt a light breeze on her skin, and when she opened her eyes, she found the doors wide open, dappled green light beckoning her outside enticingly. 

“Is he out there?” she asked, confused as to why he would have wandered. “I thought…” 

The TARDIS beeped an affirmative, and Clara shrugged, throwing caution to the wind. “Not his usual kind of place. Much too… leafy. But I trust you. I think. Be good.” She patted the console gratefully and stepped outside, whistling in appreciation before returning her attention to the task at hand. “Doctor?” she called, looking around her and taking in the rich forest that surrounded her, the canopy high above her head as she took a step forward. “ _Doctor_?” 

“Clara?” came a familiar voice, accompanied by a great deal of rustling, and the Doctor burst through a cluster of bushes and skidded to a stop in front of her in an ungainly tangle of limbs. “What are you… why are you looking at me like that?” 

For Clara was gaping at him in open-mouthed shock, looking him up and down from the mop of floppy brown hair to the bow-tie to the ridiculously laced boots, unable to find a single word to say but resolving to kill the TARDIS when she got back inside. Her heart thudded uncomfortably in her chest, her mouth dry as she felt a rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her: grief at the loss of him; guilt for her grief when she had fallen in love with his new self so absolutely; an aching sense of familiarity combined with a desperate need to be held in his arms; and then louder than anything else, love. A love that had never truly died, she considered, but rather grew and evolved as he had, changing into something new and wonderful.

“Clara?” the Doctor asked again, his tone a touch more concerned. “Why are you all silent and open-mouthed? You haven’t forgotten who I am, have you? That might be a side eff- wait, but you called my name. OK, that’s all alright then, apparently. Look, you’re not supposed to be out of the medbay, you really shouldn’t be out here at all… could’ve sworn I left the TARDIS instructions not to let you out, she seems to be much fonder of you now, can’t think why…” 

“Why was I in the medbay?” Clara stammered, for want of anything more insightful to say, and the Doctor frowned, raking a hand through his hair and huffing out his cheeks. 

“Right. Boy howdy this might take a while. I thought you might have some residual amnesia, but… well, here goes. You’re Clara Oswald. You blew into this world on a-” 

“I know that part. Skip to the interesting bit. Medbay, chin boy. Now.” Clara scowled, not recalling having ever been confined to the medbay for longer than an hour or so, and certainly not for anything that seemed as serious as what the Doctor seemed to be convinced of. 

“Good! Basic identity retained, that’s a good start. How much of the incident do you remember?” 

“What incident?” 

“Ah. Right. Well you… jumped into my time stream.” 

“Oh,” Clara sighed a little in relief, recalling the incident with perfect clarity. “Wait, was I in the medbay?” 

“Yes, you were,” the Doctor looked visibly disconcerted. “I didn’t think you’d remember and it would appear I was right. You look…” he waved his hand, searching for the least-offensive way of phrasing his observation. “Different. You’ve got less hair. Why’ve you got less hair? The TARDIS wasn’t supposed to let you near sharp objects, between the amnesia and the disorientation, we figured it wasn’t a good-” 

“I’m not _your_ Clara,” she began, unsure how best to phrase her explanation of what had occurred. “Well, that is…” 

“Ah!” he beamed widely. “What should I call you? Always a pleasure to meet you!” 

“Clara,” she said, realising abruptly that he had concluded – quite wrongly – that she was an echo. “ _Your_ Clara. Clara Prime. That Clara. Just not… of-your-time Clara.” 

“But you’re still _my_ Clara?” he asked warily, momentarily thrown by her comments, still trying to appraise whether she was in fact an echo, and she couldn’t help herself then, taking two steps forward and flinging her arms around him. 

“Yes,” she mumbled into his chest, feeling the tension release from his limbs and his arms settle around her in a gesture so familiar that her heart stilled for a moment. “ _Your_ Clara.” 

“You look well,” he murmured into her hair, still a touch shocked, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as she burrowed further into the soft tweed of his jacket, his bowtie digging into her forehead. “You look… happy. I’m glad.” 

“Am I…” Clara pulled away fractionally, looking up at him and chewing her lip as she considered her own past. “Is she… am I… whatever the hell the pronouns are, is she in a bad way?”

“Yeah,” he confessed, sighing softly before his mouth twisted up into a sad smile. “But the thing about her is she’s a fighter. Always was.” 

“Always will be,” Clara confirmed, grinning at him before glaring suddenly and whacking him lightly on the arm. “You never told me I was in the medbay.” 

“Don’t I?” the Doctor made a guilty face. “Oops.” 

“Hang on, did I just…” Clara’s eyes widened in realisation. “Was that a bootstrap paradox?” 

“You’re learning,” he hummed, smiling down at her proudly. “Yes, it was. I wasn’t going to tell you anyway, but now… well, it’s probably best that when she wakes she’s in her own bed. Keep her calm.” 

“That would be…” Clara struggled for a moment, wondering how not to reveal too much. “She’d like to have you with her.” 

“Was I with you?” he asked at once, and she laughed, remembering how insatiable his curiosity had been. 

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly, blushing a little at the memory. “You were. It was nice.” 

“Spoilers,” he teased, grinning widely, and she laughed then, relinquishing her hold on him fractionally as his attention was drawn to behind her. “I’m assuming that that’s my future TARDIS?” 

“Yep,” Clara confirmed, sinking down onto the forest floor and tucking her legs underneath her, the Doctor sitting beside her and slipping an arm around her shoulders in a small gesture of intimacy that she missed. “You’ve redecorated.” 

“And you didn’t like it?” he nudged her knee with his own. “I know how stubborn you are.” 

“It’s grown on me,” she said with a small wave of her hand, hunting for the right words. “It’s…”

“I’ve changed, haven’t I?” he asked out of nowhere, and she gaped at him. “I can read it in your face, when you first saw me, you were surprised. You looked like you hadn’t seen me in a long while. I thought it was because you’d been unconscious, but then… well, if you’re here in the TARDIS from the future but you haven’t seen me in a good long while, that’s the only conclusion I can reach.”

“I…” 

“Please don’t lie to me,” he asked, his eyes boring into hers. “Have I?” 

“Yes,” she said unwillingly, trying to look away from his gaze but finding herself unable to. “You have.” 

“Were you with me?” 

“Yes,” she whispered, willing her eyes to remain dry. “I was.” 

“And you’re still with me now, I’m guessing… unless you’re on a joyride?” 

“I’m still with you, yes,” she smiled up at him a little then, knowing the reassurance would allay some of his fears. “For sure.” 

“How was it for you?” he asked, finding her hand and squeezing it tightly, sensing her need for reassurance. “I haven’t changed _with_ someone in a long time, not since… never mind. She held up pretty well, all things considered. I bet you were the same, my ever-practical Clara.” 

Clara felt a sudden hot rush of shame, turning her head away slightly as the memories began to overwhelm her: the regeneration, the crash, the force of Vastra’s anger... “I…” she stammered, unable to tell him the truth. “I… urm…” 

“Oh Clara,” he said at once, able to discern enough from her reticence, leaning over and pressing another kiss to her hair as he swept her into his arms again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“Wasn’t your fault,” she mumbled, patting his chest. “And it’s fine now. He’s fine. _You’re_ fine. You made it fine.” 

“Am I ginger yet?” he asked hopefully, and she laughed then, a spark of something sad in her eyes as she realised she would have to break it to him gently. 

“Nope,” she told him. “You’re just kind of…” 

“It’s not purple or anything bizarre, is it?” he asked, his expression suddenly panicked. “I’m not sure I can deal with that.” 

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she assured him truthfully, sighing inwardly before explaining: “It’s… grey.” 

“Grey?!” he yelped, pulling away from her and making a pained expression. “Am I old?! I mean, I am old, but I’m not _old!_ I can’t do old! You won’t… never mind.” 

“I won’t what?” 

“You won’t…” he groaned loudly. “Forget I said anything.” 

“No,” she pressed, elbowing him gently in the side. “Tell me.” 

“You won’t like me if I’m all old and miserable.” He mumbled almost inaudibly, and she raised her eyebrows. 

“You’re a massive prat,” she told him in exasperation. “I’ve just told you it’s fine, that _we’re_ fine, and you’re getting all vain on me.”

“So you still… like me?”

Clara bit back a giggle. “Yes, idiot. I still like you an awful lot. Even if you can be a bit snappy. And Scottish.” 

“I’m _Scottish_?” he groaned again. “Not fair, lots of planets have a north, northern is fine, but _Scottish_? Nowhere has a Scotland! Why am I Scottish?” 

“Beats me,” Clara shrugged. “You and… shit, spoilers. Let’s just say you’re not the only Scot in my life.” 

The Doctor’s eyes widened at her words. “Oh,” he said, looking forlorn. “There’s… you’re with someone.”

“What?” she asked, furrowing her brow slightly. “Oh! No! Well, not that… not that person. Definitely not that person. There’s two Scots in my life, but I’m definitely not with… no.” 

“So you’re not with anyone?” the Time Lord looked hopeful once more. 

“I am,” she clarified, unsure whether she should tell him or not. “But it’s… complicated.”

“Oh,” he sighed, looking down at his lap and falling silent for a long moment. “Oh.”

“What?” she asked gently, tilting his chin up to look at her and smiling encouragingly. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just,” he mumbled, pulling away from her touch and looking back down at his hands, going a deep shade of red as he spoke. “I was just hoping that maybe… just, you know, maybe, if I’d sorted things out and I wasn’t too awful and I’d finally just actually got things together enough and been honest and you’d been interested and it wouldn’t have been too weird, especially given that I’m old… I was hoping maybe you’d be with me. If you were that way inclined. At all.” 

Clara laughed warmly then, reaching up to put her hand on his cheek. “And if I told you I was?” 

“I’d probably think you were lying.” 

“You’re daft,” she chided. “Because back in that blue box, you’re in your workshop, all embarrassed because we spent the morning kissing, and you’re still not good at casual intimacy. But you hold my hand now, and you hug me, and sometimes we sleep together all curled up under the duvet. Well. I sleep. You kind of… doze. But you’re very much my boyfriend. If you can call a two thousand-year-old Time Lord a boyfriend.” 

The Doctor beamed at her then, leaning into the warmth of her palm and closing his eyes contentedly. “How long did it take me to…”

“Get your shit together?” 

“That.” 

Clara blew out her cheeks, exhaling in a long huff. “About… a thousand years? For you?” 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah. Ah,” she chuckled, stroking her thumb over his cheekbone. “I didn’t mind waiting.”

“How long was that for you?”

“Oh, about four years and one failed relationship.” She made a non-committal face. “Not too bad, really.” 

“Was the failing relationship part my fault?” 

Pain flashed across Clara’s face, lightning-fast but enough for the Doctor to glimpse it. “No. Not really. I was… confused, I was hurt after you changed, and well… he was a good man, and I tried to shift my feelings onto him. But I think I liked the idea of him more than… actual him. And oh my _god_ , this conversation is why.” 

“Why what?” 

“Why you didn’t like him. Shit. Oh, shitting hell.” 

“I don’t like him?” 

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” she grimaced. “Whoops.” 

“What happened?” the Doctor asked, his curiosity piqued by this information. “And was I pleased about it?” 

“He died,” Clara confessed. “And no, you weren’t.” 

“Oh,” he wrapped his arm around her more securely. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know,” she sighed. “You’ve told me a million times already. But it wasn’t your fault. And fuck, fuck, fuck, I shouldn’t even be _telling_ you any of this, because now you’re… shit, this is why you kept getting weird about me being with him, isn’t it? You knew what was going to happen because I told you.” 

“Clara…” he began to rub her arm soothingly, trying to convey some degree of physical reassurance as he spoke. “Wibbly wobbly timey wimey… stuff. I might not even remember.” 

To his surprise and horror, Clara began to cry then, tears tracking down her cheeks as she sobbed. “You… you… won’t forget, and now it all makes sense, doesn’t it? You knew, you bloody well knew and you tried to be horrible so I wouldn’t date him, but it didn’t work so you let him _die_ because of me and oh god I’m _so mad at you,_ you fucking…” 

“Clara,” he interjected, feeling somewhat panicked at the turn of events. “Clara, that won’t be me, that’ll be future me, and I can’t control that, I’m sorry, but now you’ve told me it’s a fixed event and it’s a paradox loop… I can’t change your past, or you’ll never tell me any of this.” 

“Great,” she said thickly, sniffing as she realised the truth of his words. “I’m responsible for my boyfriend dying… _twice._ ” 

“You’re not,” he assured her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Oh Clara, my Clara… I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry won’t bring him back,” she muttered into his chest, feeling irrationally bitter. “I can’t believe you knew.” 

“Clara,” the Doctor reiterated with a degree of exasperation. “I probably won’t recall this. Being this close to my own time stream… it plays tricks on the mind.” 

“Why are you even here?” she asked suddenly, wiping her eyes on the heel of her hand and scowling up him in an accusatory manner. “What are you up to?” 

“Hunting a rogue Acabosian,” he explained, as though it were obvious. “Tracked down its time disturbance to… wait, that might have been you. Damn. I’ve _lost_ a rogue Acabosian.” 

“Found _me_ though,” she mumbled, trying to lighten the mood. “So it’s not an entirely lost cause.” 

“I did indeed find you,” he concurred, nodding emphatically. “Not that I’d lost you.”

“ _I’d_ lost _you_ ,” she mumbled, drying her eyes clumsily. “And I missed you.” 

He smiled at her then, stroking her hair gently, relieved that she was no longer crying. “Am I forgiven for being a forgetful old Time Lord then?”

“Not forgiven, nope,” she said pragmatically. “Just not much point getting mad at _you,_ is there? It’s your future. And besides, I missed these hugs, and I can’t hug you if I’m mad at you.” She burrowed further into his arms and smiled weakly. “Can I?”

“I guess not,” he said, then paused for a beat. “You know… if I’m not going to remember this, then there’s something I want to say. And I’d never be brave enough to do it normally, because I’d go all red and embarrassed for forever afterwards, but if I’m going to forget this then… well, I guess it’s one of my only chances to say it.” 

“Say what?”

“I care for you very deeply, Clara Oswald,” he told her quietly. “I would hope that one day, that counts for something.” He kissed her forehead gently, then rested his brow against hers, smiling faintly as her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. 

Apprehensively, Clara pressed her lips to his, finding them softer than she was used to and relaxing as he kissed her back, one of his hands coming to rest on her waist. They both pulled away after a moment, their breathing ragged as they smiled at each other shyly, uncertain of what to say. 

“I wanted to do that for a really long time,” Clara admitted after a moment’s silence, laughing awkwardly. “Always regretted not just having the balls to do it.” 

_He_ kissed _her_ then, a touch more confidently, one of his hands cupping her cheek as the other stroked her hair, and when he broke away he was beaming from ear to ear, looking inordinately proud of himself. “I just kissed my Impossible Girl,” he said with a grin. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“You’re a dork,” she teased, resting her head on his shoulder and humming in contentment. “And I miss you so much.” 

“You’ve got future me. Scottish-old-bloke me.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But he’s not quite the same, you know? None of you are the same. I love you all, but… you were my first Doctor.” 

He smiled bashfully. “I know,” he told her. “And I know that future me is lucky to have you. You’re the first face his face saw… that’s special.” 

From deep within the TARDIS, there was the faint sound of someone Scottish calling her name. 

“Is that me?” the Doctor asked, raising his eyebrows in apprehension of the prospect of their stolen moments coming to a close. “Because if so, I think you’d best go.” 

“Do I have to?” 

“Only if you want to avoid me meeting myself, and getting jealous that he’s your boyfriend,” the Time Lord teased, and Clara rolled her eyes at him good-naturedly. “He wants you, you should go.” 

“And you?” 

“I’ve got an Acabosian to hunt, and an Impossible Girl tucked up in my medbay, waiting for me to go and take care of her.”

“You look after her,” Clara said softly, kissing him one final time with a hint of regret. “And don’t forget that kiss.”

“You look after him,” the Doctor replied, his face etched with sadness. “And don’t be too angry if he doesn’t remember.” 

“I’ll try,” she promised, getting to her feet and crossing to the doors of the TARDIS. “Goodbye, Doctor.” 

“Goodbye, Clara.” 

She slipped inside before he could see her cry, leaning against the doors as the tears bisected her cheeks and a sob escaped her throat. 

“Clara?” came her Doctor’s voice again, and she blinked, scrubbing at her face with the sleeve of her jumper as he stepped into the console room, frowning at her slightly. “Where were you? I’ve been looking for you all – why is your face all red?” 

“Nothing,” she said at once, before deciding to be forthright with him. “Just… can I ask you something?” 

“Urm,” he looked disconcerted by her sudden curiosity. “Can I ask where we are?” 

“I’ve no idea,” she confessed truthfully, then continued before he could probe further: “My go: did you know Danny was going to die?”

“What kind of question is that?!” he spluttered at once, indignation taking over his face. “What, you really thought I would have let that happen?!”

“No!” she said immediately, reassured by his reaction that he was telling the truth. “Of course not! I just…”

“Just what?!” 

“I just saw you.”

“You’re seeing me now. Glad to see you’ve got such a concrete grasp of tenses. Nice English teaching.”

“Piss off,” she snapped, not in the mood for his sarcasm. “I just saw you. Bowtie you. Chin you. Out there.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the doors.

“Well, what’s he doing out there?” 

“Hunting an Acabosian. Apparently. I might’ve… told him some things. About Danny.”

“You told past me that your future boyfriend was going to die?” he looked at her, visibly unimpressed. “Clara, does the concept of ‘spoilers’ mean anything to you?”

“So you don’t remember any of it, then?” 

He sighed deeply, knowing he couldn’t avoid telling her the truth. “I remember you saying you dated someone to distract yourself from being upset with me. Or something like that. So I tried to sort of… nudge you away from Danny. Didn’t want the poor chap getting hurt when you sorted out your feelings, or whatever it is humans do. Didn’t work though, because it turns out I was rubbish at that sort of thing, and it all got… messy.” 

“Messy,” she reiterated, with a small, relieved smile. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it. You didn’t remember that he was going to…” 

“I sort of retained the bits that were pertinent to us,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed. “And that particular bit was only pertinent because you were sad and you were mad and so I needed to look after you.” 

“Do you remember me kissing you?” 

“You kissed him?!” he asked, with open-mouthed astonishment. “That’s… Clara!” 

“You’re him!” 

“Yeah but… _you kissed him!_ ”

Clara rolled her eyes at his horror. “You’re the _same person._ ”

“Yeah,” he said with indignation. “But I _can’t remember._ I got to kiss you a millennium ago and I can’t remember.”

Clara laughed. “You’re mad about that, even though you kissed me this morning and ran off halfway through?”

“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, scuffing his boot against the floor of the console room. “I spent a long time on Trenzalore. I could’ve done with something nice to look back on.” 

“You know,” she said lightly, crossing the console room and grinning up at him mischievously. “I could always offer you a refresher session.”

“That would be helpful,” he admitted, looking down at her fondly. “Very helpful indeed.” 

“Your room or mine?” 

“Neither.” He decided, and leaned down to press his lips to hers. 


End file.
